


If There's a God, Dammit, She Won't Mind

by stardustedknuckles



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Coming back to add, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Face-Sitting, Fingering, It's not violent y'all, Just a bit intense, Porn with Feelings, and yes that means being required to take or give damage, but it's light and not explicit, but it's yasha's POV so she's got other priorities, but not set anywhere specific after 111, just enough so you know it's me writing it, like just a little, lots of storm metaphors, the mirror features briefly, yasha fucks beau while raging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:53:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26976919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardustedknuckles/pseuds/stardustedknuckles
Summary: There's been a storm in Yasha for a long time. It sits close to the surface, growls a little louder on occasion, takes over in a fight. Being in Beau's close proximity is nothing new, but a lot has changed in a short few weeks and while examining the scars she finds as she patches Beau up, it occurs to Yasha that Beau might have a storm too - and what might happen if they collided.
Relationships: Beauregard Lionett/Yasha
Comments: 15
Kudos: 191





	If There's a God, Dammit, She Won't Mind

**Author's Note:**

> Looking at these works from a distance is so funny to me emotionally because it is just consistently a pattern of soft, intense, soft. I'm not sorry. It's a good formula.

"Stop wiggling." Yasha squinted at the long cut on Beau's upper arm, dabbing at it with the stained rag in the hand not busy trying to hold the arm - and the monk attached to it - still.

Beau huffed. "I told you, I'm immune to poison. It literally can't hurt me." She made to prod at it, but Yasha batted her hand away. "It's not even gonna scar." She sounded disappointed.

Yasha kept working on the wound (because it was a wound, no matter what Beau said - there was a _blade_ and there was _an intentional cut,_ and that was enough to qualify even before you added in the poison) frowning gently.

"Neither of us had a healers kit, and you don't know if poison immunity extends to infection."

"I mean, probably? It's a good guess. Besides, no way we would have been the first two people running around town after a fight. We weren't even the first people the last time."

"Are you upset we had to come home early from shopping?"

Beau scowled. "Not when you put it like that, but…" she trailed off and didn't finish.

The fingers at the end of the arm Yasha was tending to were clenched tightly. Beau jumped when Yasha placed her hand over the fist and gently massaged her fingers open. Beau watched her warily, and Yasha frowned up at her. "You like it when I take care of you," she said. She let the question bleed through.

Beau sighed and let the tension out of her shoulders. "You're right." Yasha didn't make a move to resume. "No really, I do." She made a motion for Yasha to continue.

Still, Yasha waited, watching steadily. "What's really bothering you, Beau?"

Beau made a noise that sounded caught between frustration and resignation. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath. "I...like it when you touch me," she muttered.

Yasha's heart seized just a little with warmth and her head dipped away for a moment even though Beau couldn't see her. She stroked the back of Beau's hand with a thumb, and she opened one eye to look.

Yasha smiled softly. "I have known that for a while, Beau." The air felt charged to her as she took it in, analyzed it - like a summer storm rolling in. There was a part of her that wanted to urge it to break, but this was on Beau's terms, so she kept it calm. She was used to it, after all. It was always that much closer to her skin with Beau.

Beau didn't smile back at her, but she kind of…un-frowned, just a little. Yasha reached for the bandages and started to wrap the cleaned cut with inexperienced but competent movements. "Do you know," she mused, "I actually find myself bothered by the lack of suggestiveness in a statement like that, from you."

Beau tensed again immediately. Yasha thrilled with it, just a little. "Yeah," said Beau. "That's the problem." The words were quiet, but there was a force to them, a control.

A damp breeze kicked up across a field somewhere inside Yasha. "What is?"

"I can't…" Beau waved the arm in Yasha's grasp feebly. "Don't make me say it, man, I hate feelings. They fuck up everything."

Yasha finished tying off the bandage and searched Beau's face as she stared resolutely over her head at the wall. Her hand was still wrapped loosely around Beau's bicep; she turned her attention to it and probed gently at one of the many scars on the inside of her forearm. It was easy to miss, smaller than a copper and lighter than the skin around it.

A rumble on the horizon of Yasha. "Did your dad smoke?"

Beau's eyes cut to Yasha's fingers brushing the small, distinct pucker. Her eyes took on a far-off sort of steel, and Yasha heard it - an answering stirring of sound. "Not a bad guess, but he didn't do that one. Not directly. One of the guards at the prison when he left me there for a week to teach me a lesson."

Yasha swallowed a hard lump of disgust and stroked the scar gently. "I don't remember my parents, but I have a hard time imagining a father who would not be outraged that someone hurt his child."

Beau scoffed just a little. "Oh he was very against it in theory."

For the first time, Yasha tried to remember how many scars Beau had when they met. It certainly wasn't this many, but she'd had a fair few. "How many of these are because of him?" she asked quietly.

Beau shook her head. "Nah, nothing like that. He's so fucking proud of the fact that he never laid a hand on me. He always brought up in this…voice, like it was important that I understand how much restraint and fatherly love it took him to not hit a kid."

Yasha looked at Beau's eyes, but she wouldn't meet hers. "That is not the same question."

Beau did look at her then, grim and seeming suddenly tired, though whether of Yasha or the line of questions or their answers she couldn't be sure. "Why do you want to know?"

Dry, thirsty wheat waved under a darkening sky, and Yasha herself was not sure of the answer. Something was turning over in her stomach to consider that not all of the marks that Beau wore had come from a fair fight. Not all of them were worn proudly. The anger it pulled from within in her was familiar, but a step to the left of the storm that fueled her battle rage. It didn't build - it just…rolled.

Her words came out slow and weighty with truth. "I am protective of you."

Beau's eyebrows rose just a little. "Well yeah," she said. "I know we're imp-"

"Not we." Beau froze with her lips still forming the p. "You, Beauregard. I want all of you safe, but you..." _you I want to keep._

For a moment, Yasha thought she saw an answering spark of lightning in Beau, but she she looked away. "I'm pretty hard to kill, Yash. It's Caleb you gotta worry about." She was deflecting, but Yasha had struck on a truth that had been avoiding her direct awareness for a long time and now that she had it, she could do little else but chase it. 

She tried again. "I want to know about your scars because I want you to feel safe enough to tell me." She hesitated at the look on Beau's face. "Is that okay?" Beau's arm was tensed in her hand. She loosened her fingers the slightest bit -- an indication that Beau was free to pull away.

Beau gave something like a terrified laugh, but she didn't withdraw. "What's that mean, Yash?" Her voice was doing that thing, where it got a little gravelly without Beau seeming to realize it. The voice she used when she was still deciding between fight or flight.

Yasha reached for the words she'd said those weeks ago, what felt like a lifetime ago. The words that she knew had affected Beau by the way Beau had forgotten to be cranky about them - the words that she couldn't fathom, then, what she might want them to mean. "I see you," she said softly. "I've always seen you. I….want to know more. Everything."

For two eternal breaths, the storm in Yasha waited, hung frozen in anticipation.

On the third, Yasha realized Beau's arm in her hand was slowly, slowly relaxing.

The rain was coming.

"What if you don't like all of it?" Beau's blue eyes were awash in the lights circling the kitchen around them. "I mean I put on a good show, but it's not all sweet tricks and victories in there."

The last time Yasha heard that voice come out of Beau, she had been ready to run.

_If she runs, let it be to me._

Yasha focused on the warmth of Beau's skin on her palm. "Beauregard," she said softly. "Why do you think I don't know you?"

It's wasn't a real laugh, but the air Beau had been holding finally tumbled out and something seemed settled - like it was settling, and could still go either way.

Yasha had no idea if she wanted to calm Beau or set her off, and it was making her a little lightheaded.

"Come on, Yash," Beau said. "You gotta at least let me pretend I've got everyone fooled."

Yasha touched her fingers to the small, circular scar without breaking eye contact. "I really don't." A tiny arc of blue lightning snapped from Yasha to Beau's arm. Beau looked away and took a deep, trembling breath. Yasha dragged her fingertips from the inside of Beau's arm to the heel of her hand, butterfly soft and eyes trained intently on the tiny bumps and ridges in her skin that she had never noticed before.

All of them. She wanted to know all of them.

She rested her hand in Beau's, startled when her long, battle-smudged fingers closed around it. She looked up, hardly daring to breathe, and froze.

Beau was staring at her, and _oh,_ the storm behind her eyes.

"There you are," Yasha whispered.

Every muscle in the monk's body thrummed with latent power. The clouds in Yasha surged hopefully, calling. "I wanna know your scars too," Beau said in the voice of someone who knows they're going to make a deal but wants one more inch before it seals.

"Of course."

Beau's eyes narrowed. "You say that so easily."

They were inches apart now, drawn together. The storm in Beau was calling. Yasha looked to their joined hands, then back at Beau. "I would not ask for what I wouldn't give."

Beau's voice was just this side of steady. "When did you decide you were ready to give?"

"The moment I was certain you would land in my arms."

Beau's head tilted, just slightly. "Not the one when I did?"

Yasha brought their hands up to brush her lips across Beau's knuckles. "No."

She saw the moment something cracked in Beau, and then the hand not in Yasha's was reaching for her cheek and Yasha was there to meet it eagerly, a fraction of a moment to catalogue the sensation of her heart beating fully again before their lips met.

A little clumsy, a little chaste, but _right._

The rain came.

They separated, then came back together immediately. Again, and then again - each time harder than the last. This was a promise and a need, and every successive kiss sought to strengthen the conviction of the vow. Finally, Beau's mouth yielded.

Yasha didn't hesitate.

And it would have been awkward, if either of them had spared a moment for self reflection. There was so much here to learn - and they would, later. They would map each other, find the right spots, create patterns, talk about this thing.

But this was a summer storm, sudden and warm and unstoppable. Teeth on lips, hands rough, spit strung unheeded between them, Beau's gasp of delight and pain at Yasha's fingers around the bandage and its wound below. This was Beau's legs wrapped behind Yasha's knees and pinning her close, Yasha's thumb parting Beau's lips as her own moved down her cheek, her jaw, her throat, Beau's gasp of "please" and the knowledge that they needed a better place _now_ -

A door neither of them had noticed, suddenly, and Yasha broke Beau's hold with an ease that made her go boneless for a moment to carry her through it. It led to Beau's room, because that's where they wanted to be and this was a magic tower, and the primal noise of need Beau made when Yasha flung her down onto the bed was its own magic too.

Another time, there would be enough air between them to pause, to blush at the gracelessness inherent to shedding clothes as quickly as possible. Another time, they would lie still and touch slowly and laugh together. This, too, was understood in the promise they were making. They would be gentle with each other, drift fingertips over prickled skin and press soft kisses to the hollows in each other's bodies.

When Beau's hot mouth surged against Yasha's nipple, it was a lightning bolt crashing against her vision, right to the center of her. Yasha's fingers on Beau's throat, the pain-sharpened wonder of having someone this strong and electric pressing into her and not away, the distant instinct, closer now, to press just a little too hard reflected in those defiant and lust-rent eyes - it was home, it was coming home, Beau's body was home and she had been searching for so _long_.

In the end it was Beau's hand on Yasha's cunt first - a dare, a challenge, a command for Yasha to prove herself. Yasha growled and pressed _down_ with her hips, clenching hard around Beau and answering with a bite to her shoulder that had the fingers inside of Yasha curling mercilessly, unheedingly, the snarl it wrenched from Yasha hurtling against the landscape of Beau's skin to shatter into a million pieces.

The hand not buried in the tangle of Beau's hair raked lines up Beau's thigh and hip to find purchase on her breast, latched on so that the grip in Yasha went rigid again as she took her pleasure from Beau's hand for the few moments it took for Beau to translate pain into purpose and fall backwards, using the momentum of Yasha's fall to flip them so that her hungry body was pinning Yasha down, and there, under the mirror now, Yasha could see all of what Beau was doing to her. How her hair splayed across the pillow and stuck near her mouth in wild strands, how her body moved to devour every touch and bite Beau delivered, the animal they made together like this.

Beau's thumb on her clit was a merciless shower of sparks, and Yasha was dimly aware of the rage filtering into her vision, surrounding her and tunneling her world to nothing but the three pink lines that ran from the back of Beau's thigh around to her hip. She had heard of others who saw rage as inextricable from anger and hate, had even used it herself to turn fear into action and threats into pulp. But it had never been something out of her control, not when there was only her directing it. Rage was nothing but the end point at which an emotion became something to _do,_ and it was a focus, a conduit - a lightning rod.

When Beau's teeth on her swollen nipple brought her fingernails harsh against the spine under her hand, Yasha roared and felt something pull from deep inside her, from the place where once she groped for the aid of darkness but now found light. In the mirror, white wings exploded from her back to flex and snap once before lifting to cover Beau as Yasha arched and came undone like thunder tumbling into itself and over again.

Another time, this would be a time to pause, for Yasha to breathe and for Beau to run awed and sticky fingers over the feathers on display for her - because of her. But though Yasha's rage relished in the explosion of energy and emotion, it was not gone and the storm in Beau was still calling.

She dug her fingers into Beau's ass and dragged her up - Beau had a fraction of a second to throw out an arm and keep from colliding with the wall behind Yasha's head. One of her knees crashed haphazardly into Yasha's shoulder with a dull kind of sound that sent blue sparks across her vision and anchored her rage further, and Beau was leaning down now to kiss her harshly as her cunt ground hard against Yasha's chest, unconscious or unheeding of the way every thrust jostled the shoulder that had dislocated.

But it wasn't where Yasha wanted her. She was a raw force of nature like this, bruised and naked but for the bandage Yasha had wrapped on her arm, but rutting against Yasha's skin was not the way Yasha wanted to have her. Not this time, not their first.

Her wings dissipated, and she used her good arm to pull Beau up again so that she staggered, breath coming harsh, and either seemed to understand or had the same idea of how to take her own pleasure from Yasha. She pulled herself up so that her calves rested on either side of Yasha's head.

They exchanged a glance, but it was a foregone conclusion, not a request. Beau's head tipped back and met Yasha's eyes in the mirror. Yasha's teeth grasped a long, thin scar that ran along the muscle on the inside of Beau's thigh and strong hands dropped to her hair to tangle there. The responding twitch of Beau into her, seeking more, brought Yasha's good hand up to palm Beau's small breast and roll the nipple hard. Beau's head fell back and her cunt dropped demandingly on Yasha's waiting and eager mouth.

Beau's eyes were half-glazed in the mirror as the cataclysm of them, the wall of force and lightning and open skies, drew closer to its end. Yasha took Beau's clit in her mouth and sucked, growling appreciatively at the resulting pain that lanced through her scalp and kept her focused on the slide of Beau against her tongue and chin, the way she was melting against Yasha even as she broke apart piece by piece with broken, wordless cries. She reached for Beau's other nipple and clamped hard as she pulled Beau's clit between her lips and sucked her cheeks hollow.

Beau's yelps became voiceless gasps as she hung, thighs trembling around Yasha's mouth as she licked her through the grip of climax, and when she dropped her hands to the bed and twitched her hips away in overstimulation, Yasha's good hand supported her as she struggled backwards to list sideways and collapse slowly. 

Yasha's eyes remained on Beau's face as they breathed; she gritted her teeth and hauled her dislocated arm closer to her side with the last of her rage and let it dissipate to the same place she imagined her wings must be when they were gone.

Slowly, the haze faded, until there was only Beau. Beau with bruises in new places, scratches Yasha could recall and could not. The thought that Yasha might be counted among Beau's scars, by her own doing this time, at Beau's request - her demand, even - stoked the flame of protective affection within her to a dizzying height that seemed to Yasha to be the kind of reach that would never fade back to nothing. A corner had been turned from the moment their lips had met; all of the rest that followed had been the revealing of each other for the taking. 

Beau's eyes opened, clear and bright like a becalmed sea. She seemed softly confused by what she saw as her eyes searched Yasha's face, and the hand resting limp by her knee drifted shakily across the sheets to touch her fingertips to Yasha's.

Yasha curled Beau's fingers in to her own palm. "Hey," she whispered.

"You look worried."

Yasha smiled, but she knew it didn't fully reach her eyes. "Just thinking I would've saved my healing if I'd known."

Beau frowned, puzzled. "You don't mean for me, right?" She turned her head to look up at the mirror, eyes roving down her body and cataloguing all of the scratches and dark marks with an expression that could only be pride. It made something in Yasha unclench while something else tightened anew, and she met Beau's eyes in the mirror and smiled for real this time. Beau flashed back a quick and spent grin, and then her eyes caught on Yasha's opposite shoulder.

She raised herself up on an arm to look across Yasha's body. "Shit, is that…?"

Now it was Yasha's turn to reassure. "It's fine, just dislocated. It was helpful, really," she added at Beau's concerned expression. "It kept me focused."

Beau knew Yasha enough to understand. Her eyes widened slightly, impressed. "You were raging?"

Yasha chuckled at that. "If you have to ask…"

"Fuck," Beau breathed. "That's hot, Yash. Is that why you…" she gestured to the marks with a broad sweep.

"A little," Yasha confessed. "But not completely. I made a few of them before the rage kicked in." She considered. "Most of them, actually. I don't have to use as much control before it happens."

Beau blew out of a breath and smiled. "Well you don't have to worry about leaving too many. I wanna keep as many as I can."

Her breathing deepened slightly as Yasha lifted their joined hands to trace a particularly brazen bite mark at the spot where her shoulder met her neck. "Even that one?"

Beau squeezed her fingers little. "Are you kidding? I can't believe I never thought to use a disguise kit to put one there myself." She turned their hands so that she could plant a kiss on Yasha's knuckles. "Wanna let me get that put in place for you and then we can wash off?"

Yasha hadn't considered it, but of course Beau would know something about dislocated shoulders. "Sure," she said. "I'd rather not have to take it to Jester or Caduceus."

Beau sat up and grasped Yasha's good arm to help her do the same. For a moment, she just sat between Yasha's legs and looked her over, her face inscrutable.

"Beau?"

She blinked and leaned forward to press a quick kiss to Yasha's lips, hesitant at first like she was still reassuring herself that she could do that now. "Sorry. You're fuckin' beautiful, that's all."

Yasha smiled and rested her hand on Beau's hip. "Is it?"

A flush crept slowly over Beau's cheeks. "It's also kind of hot that I broke your shoulder trying to sit on your face."

"There's my girl."

There was that shyness again, that slight duck of the head as Beau smiled and moved to rest Yasha's hand on her shoulder. "The monks taught us this," she explained at Yasha's inquisitive look. "You don't always have to force it back in." Her fingers started a slow massage of Yasha's wrist, moving upwards half an inch at a time. She focused on her hands and kept talking. "There's the socket, right, and the bone that popped out, but it's not just hanging in space. It's still in the area. If you relax…" she was at Yasha's elbow now, kneading firmly, and Yasha was surprised to find that she was relaxed, actually. Her shoulder ached, but it was nothing that concerned her or demanded her attention. Beau was talking, and Beau was touching her, and she could spend all day here - dislocated shoulder or no.

Besides, Beau's fingers felt _obscenely_ good.

Finally, those clever fingertips were pressing gently at the top of her bicep, and Beau moved a hand over to the shoulder. "It wants to go back in," she explained. "And you just-" she pushed in sharply and with a familiar disorienting crunch, Yasha felt whole again.

She flexed the fingers holding on to Beau but didn't remove them. "That's amazing." She rolled it tentatively in its socket, marveling. "Thank you."

Beau waved her off. "Like I said, musty old monk trick. Never worked on me, I couldn't relax enough."

"Somehow I don't find that hard to believe," Yasha murmured. She drew her hand up next to Beau's face, cupping her cheek and smoothing her thumb over her eyebrow.

Beau turned her face into Yasha's hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. She still seemed unsure of herself in a way Yasha had trouble placing. "Is this okay?" she asked.

"So much more than okay," Beau replied immediately. "It's just…" she exhaled. "It's kinda dumb, but I'm…I'm not used to this." She placed a hand over Yasha's.

"Being touched?"

"Kind of. Being touched, like…casually. Just because."

Yasha's chest felt like it was glowing from the inside, but there was an ache there too. "Being touched gently," she guessed.

Beau's summer-sky eyes watched her and said nothing. Yasha drew Beau slowly to her and pressed her lips to hers. No urgency, lust in the backseat if still in reach, just a kiss for its own sake. After a hesitant moment, Beau leaned in and parted her own just enough to allow Yasha in. This time, the slide of her tongue on Beau's was a reassurance, not a claim. There was nothing to seize here, nothing to fight for. Just them and the way they belonged to each other.

"Okay," Beau said a little breathily when they parted. She swallowed. "I could probably get used to that."

Yasha felt light, even buoyant as she smiled and stroked Beau's cheek. "There's more where that came from," she promised. "I've got almost a year of touching saved up and ready to spend, and tons of scars to hear about."

Beau's smile stretched against her palm. "Wanna start with touching me in the bath?"

"Absolutely," said Yasha. "And on the way, and after, and-" she broke off when Beau laughed at her and took Yasha by the hand to tug her towards the bathroom.

"You're as bad as I am."

Yasha squeezed their joined hands, reveling for a moment in the last roll of thunder in her as it settled back over the hills to wait, sleeping, until called upon again. "You have no idea."

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "I Like it Heavy" by Halestorm, which. Fuck yeah. Bisexual icon Lzzy Hale (not a typo) here to give some of the most badass lines and titles.


End file.
